After their fearful fight with the beasts and their hard-won triumph of obtaining the blue lotus, the group of young—too young—warriors finally made their way back toward the entrance of the village. Their faces bore marks of exhaustion, their clothes torn and stained with dust and blood. Yet beneath those scars of hardship shone a quiet radiance—the proud light of survival. Each step that carried them closer to home felt like walking out of a storm into sunlight.
Nestled within the embrace of towering trees, the village seemed at first glance fragile. Simple homes of mud, wood, and straw stood scattered across the clearing, smoke rising lazily from chimneys to greet the sky. Beyond lay patchworks of vegetable gardens tilled by calloused hands, goats bleating in small pens, and the distant shimmer of a river that offered both water and life.
Yet this frail appearance concealed something profound. Unlike the fortified cities of the world, whose walls were raised by wealth and war, this village had been raised by loyalty and sacrifice. Unlike palaces, which stood polished but hollow, here every hand labored, every breath mattered. The place breathed not with the greatness of power, but with the perfection of belonging.
The forest around them was alive, both a giver and a taker. By day, it bestowed fruits, herbs, wood, and game. By night, it reminded them of its cruelty. Ordinary wild animals like boar, wolves, or deer roamed freely, harmless enough in sunlight, but as dusk fell and the owls began to call, danger grew near. Beasts—the kind guided by hunger and primal fury—prowled in the darkness. At times, their growls and howls echoed so close that children clung to their mothers and fires were left to burn bright till dawn.
No beast that approached was intelligent, no predator could plan as a man could, but their claws and fangs were cruel realities. At times, a stray wolf would leap against a wall at night. At other times, the thunderous growl of a great wildcat sent tremors into the huts. Survival here was never guaranteed, and yet the village endured.
For years, the elders had recognized one truth: without strength, the village would not survive. And so, when lawless beasts tested their borders, the strongest men joined hands to forge protection.
The result was no noble wall like the dynasties built, no ornamented fortress clad in silver. It was humbler, yet just as unshakable: a defense line of logs and stone rising at the village's edge.
Tree trunks were hewn from the forest, sharpened and planted deep, like teeth of a great wooden beast. Stones, dragged by hand from the riverbanks, were piled high and bound with mud. Families had gathered to set them; men with ropes hauled, women bound the frames with woven vines, and children filled gaps with smaller branches. There was no pay, no command—only hearts bound by necessity.
Torches lined this crude wall, their flames beating back nightly shadows. Spears leaned against its posts, most of them little more than farming tools with tips hardened in fire. By rota, fathers, uncles, and elder sons took watch through long nights, their eyes sharp and voices hushed. They knew they could not repel the true terrors of the deep forest, but their presence was a line drawn across the earth: Here lies our home—crosser beware.
What made the village endure was not size but structure. Four grand families shaped its spine, each one trading with the outside world, bartering herbs, hides, and forest wood for what the villagers needed most: salt, oils, seeds, even knowledge of the wider world. They were pillars not only because they held wealth, but because without their journeys, survival would strain against impossible odds.
Yet it was not they alone that created the fabric of village life. The small families—farmers, hunters, weavers, and gatherers—were its lifeblood. Their huts filled the air with the smell of cooked grain, their fields with rippling stalks. Children carried clay pots to the stream each morning, laughing despite their chores. Women hung strips of drying meat above their doorways, gossiped in hushed tones, and sang lullabies as fires dimmed. Old men carved tools from bones, while young men felled timber or carried baskets of herbs.
All together, they formed a rhythm everlasting, as steady as a heartbeat.
And compared to the dynasties of the Blue Star—built high upon blood and ambition—this humble weaving of lives had something they could never replicate. The dynasties owned gold, land, armies, alliances, but they lacked this sacred thread: a community where every hand carried not for itself alone, but for all.
This sacred harmony and deep connection to both land and nature is why the village earned its name: Hidden Land Village.
The name speaks to more than just physical geography. Though surrounded by dense forests and towering mountains, the village is itself "hidden" beneath a canopy of ancient maple trees so vast and spreading that from above, the land beneath seems like a secret tucked into the embrace of the wild world. The great maples stand as silent guardians—wide branches stretching toward the peaks—shaping the silhouette of the forest and casting a delicate web of leaves that hides the village from distant eyes.
To outsiders, the woods seem impenetrable, mysterious, as if guarding a secret. For the villagers, these majestic trees are their shelter, their identity, and their unwavering companions. The deep green leaves rustle whispered stories, and the scent of maple sap blends with the breeze, filling the air with calm and grounding presence.
The name "Hidden Land" honors this intimate bond between people and nature—a village that does not boast grand walls or riches but thrives quietly beneath the watchful leaves, held safe by loyalty, respect, and the slow, steady strength of the land itself.
This village is cradled by the forest's towering embrace, where ancient maples spread their wide branches high above, weaving a natural canopy that both shelters and conceals. These majestic trees cloak the village in shades of green and gold, their rustling leaves whispering secrets only the wind and earth understand. From the rolling foothills to the jagged peaks beyond, the forest stretches vast and uninterrupted, making the land appear as if it hides a precious secret—as if the world outside could never fully know the quiet strength resting within.
Surrounded by wild rivers that carve their way through mossy banks and rocky shores, the village pulses with the rhythms of life undisturbed by ambition or conquest. This is a place where time moves slowly, measured by the turning of seasons and the blooming of flowers, rather than the shifting alliances of distant dynasties.
Here, every stone and leaf, every worn path and humble home speaks of generations who have lived in harmony with the land rather than mastering it. The village's name reflects this truth—it is not only hidden by geography but hidden in spirit, a sanctuary where humans walk lightly, aware that they tread on a fragile balance sustained by respect and care.
In the world of Blue Star, where might and power often rewrite the fate of nations, Hidden Land stands apart. It is a mortal village, grounded and real, where strength is drawn from community, kindness, and an unyielding bond to the earth beneath their feet. Its true power lies neither in armies nor cultivation techniques but in shared survival, where every hand builds, heals, and protects not just family but all who call this place home.
To outsiders, it may seem like a simple village—a mere drop in the vast wild forests of Blue Star. But to those who live within, Hidden Land is everything: hope, roots, and the quiet promise that no matter how fierce the world may rage, there will always be a place where life can quietly flourish, cradled by the trees and guarded by the enduring spirit of its people.
Beyond the gate, the great maples stretched skyward, their branches weaving a natural roof over the path, filtering sunlight into dappled patterns on the forest floor. It was as if the forest itself folded over the village, hiding it in a sacred shawl of leaves. The gate was not merely an entrance—it was a symbol, a boundary sacred and strong, welcoming only those who bore the village's spirit in their hearts.
The soft crackle of torches along the rough-hewn defense wall mingled with the faint shuffle of tired footsteps. Two guards, leaning heavily on their spears, had been keeping the long night watch when sudden footsteps drew their eyes. At first, they thought it was a stray hunter, but as the glow of dawn lit the figures, both men stiffened.
Eight boys—battered, bloodstained, and carrying the faintly glowing blue lotuses—were stumbling toward the gate.
For a heartbeat, the older guard forgot to breathe. His eyes widened at the sight of children returning from where even grown men tread with caution. His hand gripped his spear tighter, as if to steady himself.
The younger guard was the first to find his voice. "Boys… why are you in this state? What happened to you?" His question came hurried, almost desperate, as if he feared the answer.
The second guard remained silent, gaze fixed on the scene before him, his thoughts a storm. He had seen these very boys before—mocking with careless pride, smirking at the sight of guards who sat by day in weary slumber, thinking them useless, mere watchers at night who fought nothing and only slept under the sun. He had even overheard one call the watchmen "idlers," believing they lived off others' work.
And yet, now… these same boys bowed low, their movements heavy with exhaustion but deliberate with respect.
"We… have returned," Tao, the eldest among them, said in a hoarse voice. The group pressed their palms together and greeted the guards properly, as if the line between boy and warrior had blurred within them.
The older guard exchanged a look with his comrade, astonishment flickering in his tired eyes. It was strange—these children had always carried arrogance like a shield, hiding their immaturity behind defiant grins. They had never shown weakness, never spoken with such humility.
The silent guard finally spoke, his voice softer than usual, almost uncertain. "You… greet us as though we are elders. Only yesterday, you would laugh when we dozed at our posts in the daylight."
Tao lowered his head. His voice, though quiet, carried the weight of what they had seen. "We learned, at last, why this wall stands… and why you stand with it. Without it, without you, there would be no home to return to. Forgive our foolishness."
The heavy wooden gate groaned as the first guard stepped forward, his weathered face darkened by torchlight. His grip on the iron-tipped spear hardened, his voice deep and heavy with authority:
"What on earth did you encounter? Why are you all so bloodied and wounded—and why do you return carrying such rare Sage Blue Meditation Lotuses?"
His question cut through the early morning air, stern and commanding. The younger boys shrank slightly beneath the weight of his presence, but YouTu—his breathing ragged, clothes torn along the sleeves where claws had scraped him—took two steps forward and bowed. His voice trembled at first, but steadied as he spoke:
"We… were foolish, honored guard. We thought the forest was just silence and shadow. But when we went deeper, lured by the glimmer of the Lotus, the wild things of the dark found us. They struck with claws and fangs, stronger and fiercer than we imagined. Their roars broke our courage, yet we did not break apart. Tao's caution held us steady, and shoulder to shoulder we fought as one. Each man guarded the other, each hand struck only because another hand shielded it.
The boys all bowed behind him, silent yet resolute.
The heavy silence broke. The two guards exchanged a look, the flame of disbelief flickering in their weary eyes. The first guard frowned deeply, his weathered face stern, but there was no denying the pride tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"To withstand even wild beasts at your age…" his voice rumbled, filled with grudging wonder, "this is no ordinary feat. Do you know what you faced? These are creatures many grown men fear to challenge. Claws sharper than a sickle's edge, howls that freeze even a spear-hand. They may not be the strongest horrors of the forest, but neither are they weak. And you—mere boys—stood your ground, eight against the storm. It was not luck. It was structure. Discipline. Unity. That is why you prevailed."
His eyes swept over them, resting especially on Tao and YouTu.
"You two bore the burden of their lives, I can see it. Tao… your caution guided them, kept recklessness from devouring all. YouTu… your strength steadied them, gave courage when fear clawed their chests. Together, you kept death from this gate. That is talent worth nurturing… though it is also a weight that will grow heavier with each trial."
For a brief moment, the first guard allowed himself a flicker of pride, a short sigh of relief before continuing with grave tone:
"But remember—the beasts you fought were not the worst the forest has to offer. They were fangs of the first layer. Stronger jaws wait deeper in the shade."
The boys nodded, determination burning faintly beneath their fatigue.
The second guard, however, did not smile. His spear-hand twitched, grip white-knuckled, and his gaze lingered on the dried blood and bruises marring the boys' arms. His jaw set hard, his shoulders tense as if bracing against memories unseen.
"Do not let pride grow within you so quickly," he said harshly. His voice lacked the calmer steadiness of his comrade. "I have seen children taste victory only once, only to die in their next venture because they mistook survival for destiny. One path wrong, one strike late, and beasts do not forgive. Teamwork saved you—but teams can break. Bonds strain in fear, and when they shatter, they leave only corpses behind."
His words struck heavy, startling some of the younger boys into silence. Unlike his companion, there was no warmth hidden in his tone—only an urgency born of worry. He had once seen what became of reckless youths who thought themselves chosen by fortune, and the memory ate at him still.
The first guard placed a hand on his comrade's shoulder, steadying his storm. Then he turned back to Tao and YouTu, voice firm but calm.
"You have done well. And yet, your true test has barely begun. Hold fast to humility, hold fast to each other, and perhaps this village may one day look upon you not as children… but as warriors who keep the wall standing."
With that, he gestured toward the gate.
"Go, do not gamble so recklessly again. Your path has only begun, and the village will need your light in days to come"
The boys bowed, their bodies weary but their spirits burning steady as they stepped beyond the threshold of wood and stone, carrying not just the blossoms of the Sage Blue Lotus, but the weight of a heavier future.
Behind them, the two guards lingered. The elder exhaled slowly, relief showing in the crease of his eyes.